desire

the thing about being desired

is that you’re never really wanted.

it’s this thing where you’re imagined

but never perceived or regarded.

it’s this thing where you’re a collection of pieces and parts

but never really whole.

it’s this thing where you’re not yourself

because you’re someone else’s fantasy.

the thing about being desired is not really being desired at all.

just watched and ogled and toyed with and disposed of.

desire is not love;

nor is it care.

desire is a fleeting sensation in the genitals

that rumbles up through the gut

and dissipates before it can reach the heart.

desire is never enough.

it doesn’t take you on dates overlooking beautiful bridges.

it doesn’t hold your hand when your Aunt dies.

it doesn’t offer you grace when you’ve fallen into a deep dark depression.

it doesn’t send you a meal when you’re too broken to cook for yourself.

desire does not hold, sustain, or comfort.

desire just wants.

and you’ll never be able to give it everything.